Miserable Bliss
by Frozen-Passion
Summary: [Oneshot] 'I … wasn’t significant enough to be loved by anyone. So welcome to my life. This is my miserable bliss.'


Miserable Bliss

Summary: I … wasn't significant enough to be loved- by anyone. So welcome to my life. This is my miserable bliss. A short little one-shot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with this fic and Harry Potter.

* * *

Laughter. It echoed in my ears. It ricocheted through the hallway, bouncing off the walls until it reached my ears. They pointed and gawked and laughed. Not just giggles and snickers either. They were doubled over with laughter, in near hysterics. I could see some people rolling on the floor in their mirth. I had to prevent the small bitter smile that threatened to grace itself on my lifeless lips. A shadow of it appeared and then, in the next second it was gone, like a candle flickering out in the wind. They found me funny. They found me hilarious. My actions were comical, my beliefs amusing, and my words sidesplitting. Everything I did and everything I said was hilarious. But of course, this was the bad type of hilarious because they weren't laughing with me but at me. I was the outcast and everyone's favorite pastime was to ridicule me. 

I didn't run. I didn't cry. I didn't yell or scream or do any combination of the above. Instead I stopped, I looked, and then I walked on, indifferent to the whole situation. That made it even funnier. They found it hilarious, that I wasn't willing to show my pain, as they laughed at my expense. Or they believed I was just too encased in my bliss to notice why they laughed. They thought I was confused or that I was just pretending not to care and in moments I would go hide in some abandoned corner of the library and cry. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of crying alone, locked in my room or by the lake. I wouldn't shed a tear and I wouldn't care. I was apathetic.

And yet, as I reached the snow-covered grounds by the frozen lake, and as I stood unaccompanied, in the distorted shade of a lone, bare, lifeless tree, all I could hear was their laughter. It echoed in my mind, taunting and tormenting me. I would rather be cursed into oblivion then be haunted by the echoes of their howled mirth. I so badly wanted to run into the woods, so deep that I could never be found. I wanted to scream so loud that it would resonate clear across England. I wanted to hide but I could not. That would admit weakness and pain. It would show them I actually cared what they thought, and it was like admitting to defeat. They would know they had won, broke some poor little girl, too crazy for her own good. Then they would know that their jokes hurt. Oh, and they hurt me so bad.

There was a time when I was regarded highly. But that was a year ago and many things had changed since then. The memories of my deeds and my battles, and my strength and courage were all but forgotten. But my ridiculous façade and I were not forgotten. If anything, after the few months of glory, I was teased more, pranked more often and was the butt of a hundred times the amount of jokes. I was ridiculed for what I believed in and for what my father did. But I was the only one who could see. I could see what was really going on, and the things people attempted to hide. Their ill-hidden fears, emotions, weaknesses and pains. I hid mine so much better. And I could stare death in the eyes and not be afraid. I didn't show fear and weakness. I couldn't. I couldn't show any emotion. If I did things would just get worse. They had before and they would again. They always did…

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Lovegood," an icy voice said in a slow drawl behind me. I knew that voice. It sent shivers racing down my spine every time I heard it. It was the same voice that tortured me, both physically and mentally. And yet the voice belonged to two separate people, a father and a son.

I turned around to face him. He smirked at my obvious discomfort. It was a pretty well known fact that I despised his torturous existence, even if I hid it. No one could be so mentally defeated and not feel an emotion akin to the strong hate I felt. Shadows danced merrily on his face as he eyed me. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to annoy me and he was succeeding. His very presence annoyed me.

"What are you doing here?" I spat out. My words resonated across the bare, white fields of snow and dead weeds. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want him to be here. I didn't want to be with him. I wanted to be alone and free. Free from the image- the memory of my mother dying. It had tormented me for so many years. It made people pity me, and I didn't want someone's pity. I didn't want their sympathy. So I pretended I was all right. And so I enjoyed my bizarre ways, when I could do what I wanted and find a little peace within my heart.

But they began to call me Loony and they began to take notice of my strange way of dealing with my pain. But they didn't know of my pain. They only knew of my odd ways. Soon it became a giant mask, covering all emotion and pain. No one could see the real me. I wouldn't let them see it. And this mask is up so often it has become a part of me. To take it off, even for a few seconds, lifts a huge weight of my shoulders. At this moment I didn't want to bear that weight.

I didn't care what he thought of me. I didn't care if he saw the bitter person I had become, behind my mask of indifference. I didn't care if he caught a glimpse of my pain, and suffering. At least, then someone would see it. See the starved person I was. I was starved for love. My dad was busy and my mom was dead. Everyone else believed me to be crazy and weird. No one was willing to risk their social status for me- not even the dorks! I was bitter and I was a pessimist. The man before me, of all people, should understand who I had become. Maybe not why but at least who.

And just as I knew he would, he seemed taken aback by my response. My tone had been harsh. It matched the freezing weather outside, just like his icy attitude had. He was surprised that I was this way. He was blind like the rest of them. He couldn't see past the eccentric exterior into the numb, frozen interior of my heart and soul. He could only see me, floating on a cloud, absorbed in my ignorant bliss. He never could see that my bliss was fake, and was just a prop in my giant play. It was just another streak of color on the detached painting of my life.

For a moment I swear I thought I saw his eyes soften. I swear, for a solitary second he was ready to let his guard down- at least a little. He understood and he would help me and I could help him. But then they were impervious steel eyes once again. He face was pale, and pointed, and squared-off and hard. It was emotionless and detached like his heart-if he had one. And his eyes were the same colors as the secret storms he had carried the burden of for so long. They were cold and harsh, from years of pain. He knew it and he was accustomed to it, but my pain was different. My pain was the closest thing I had to a friend. His haunted him.

Oh, I knew this man better than he thought anyone did. I was perceptive and observant and I knew and understood. I could see the pain behind his mask. Was I the only one? Was the person they all believed to be oblivious to the world, the only one who was aware? Was I really the oblivious one? I knew and I saw and yet I was treated like a child who was always off in her own little world. But I had always been conscious and it was just a habit to watch. I could know a person just by watching them, and how they acted and the secret bursts of emotion that was only shown when no one should be watching. Yet I watched and I saw. Would this man, standing in front of me ever realize that he wasn't alone in this world? If he ever did maybe he would just end up like me. Aware and yet deemed unconscious.

He didn't answer my question. He didn't seem to be planning on it either. I wasn't worth his time. I was petty and insignificant compared to the great Draco Malfoy. He had enjoyed so many years at my expense. I suffered while he laughed. It was always like this. I knew my gaze would seem longing. But it was how I felt. I longed to be held, and reassured that everything would be okay. With my mum's death I grew up and so I had lost so much of my precious childhood. I acted like I could, but I knew deep down I wasn't able to stand steadily on my own two feet. I needed something I could never get. I needed someone to support me and help me but no one would.

He watched me and I watched him. I waited. I wanted him to show a sign of life behind his steel eyes. I watched to see if he would show any bit more emotion, than the seconds he had shown, what seemed like hours ago. I stood, I watched and I waited. And like always I was let down. I never got what I wanted, much less what I really needed.

I spun on my heel and disappeared into the forest, the only sign of life out in this barren white land, occupied only by two numb and deadened souls. I half hoped he would come after me but he didn't. Why would he? He couldn't care about me. If the guy had emotion you could never see them. He had always been cruel. But I had an odd relationship with this man. I knew he felt something deep down but he was afraid. That was our difference he was afraid to face the pain while I looked it straight in the eyes, not once blinking, my gaze never faltering. He knew this and he was afraid of me. Afraid of the fact that I could perceive so much about him and that I saw his weakness. Somehow in the years I knew him, I had come to love his cruelty. It was the only thing I saw that showed life and it was what gave away his fear to me, because like always I was the only one who could see. I was afraid of being the only one who could see, but it was true. He had found my weakness and he exploited it. He made me hate him and love him at the same time, and yet it was the former that always showed.

But now he was gone. Now just a distant blur of cold eyes, and an icy heart. He was a part of my past, a part, like all the rest of it that I could never see again. I would run away and find a place were I could, maybe, just maybe be accepted. I doubt there is such a place. People fear my kind. People are scared of people being able to look into their eyes and read what is in their soul like an open book. A heartless man, I had somehow come to love, was standing just beyond the edge of this forbidden forest, but I couldn't go back. He was gone now, and he would never care for me. I, Luna Lovegood wasn't significant enough to be loved- by anyone. So welcome to my life. This is my miserable bliss.

* * *

I hoped you enjoyed this little one-shot! It's actually the first story I've finished. Please review- even if you hate it... 

ForeverFALLEN ANGEL

* * *

12/15: Small revisions have been made in grammer and spelling. Every change was very minor! 

-Frozen-Passion-


End file.
